Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

pointing to the faded black ink of the signature line.

Clara squinted at the signature, then looked up at me, her brow furrowed. “That looks like your handwriting, Mom. But the date on this is December of nineteen ninety-four.”

“It is my handwriting,” I said. “But I never signed a trademark form. She took my signature from a greeting card and used it continue reading …